Chapter Text
Alright, Illte. You can do this. Breathe.
-
Returning to Iokath wasn’t her choice, truthfully; all Eirn wanted to do was sink back into obscurity, sidle on out of the spotlight that other people kept thrusting her into and let some other fool take on the galaxy and all its problems. Her hand kept being forced, though; dragged by those same other people, and the rest of her was too attached to her hand to do anything permanent about it.
’I told you, I’m no assassin! I’ve come to deliver a message from the Republic-!’
On any other day, in any other place, the Republic not-assassin’s qualities (her voice, her accent more specifically - it, and the sharp contrast it took to the content of her words) would have made her its focus, but Eirn’s attention was all on the other not-assassin (at least, she’d never known him as one - though she remembered, at that thought, the times he’d disappeared on missions of his own and come back, weeks later, with a spring in his step and another tale that he would refuse to tell any but the poorly encrypted personal logs that made their way to Baras).
He was older, of course; not by much, but noticeably so - his hair a little thinner, a little more uniformly black in a way that spoke not of youth but dye and denial. He was thinner; again, not by much, but his uniform hung a little less snugly - more room about the neck, a few millimetres at the most but very definitely there. His eyes, which half refused to look at her, were just as blue; his rank bars had altered, his ribbons changed, but it was very definitely-
’…Malavai?’
When she spoke, she felt her voice crack; wonder if she had, and wish, simultaneously, that she hadn’t. All of the attention in the room, it felt, snapped to her - not just that she knew the not-assassin, but knew him intimately enough to call him by name (by given name, under these circumstances)-
He looked at her, for a moment - at her, as opposed to everything but her, and then glanced away again (imperceptibly, almost, but he did so; his focus back on whatever was behind her, his aura far more ordered than she remembered it being and infinitely more impenetrable, at least in her current state).
‘My lord.’
And that was all he had to say; all he said, greeting her in the politest and and most distant way possible. That hadn’t sunk in yet, though - that he’d afforded her the barest of civility, that he wasn’t even paying her attention, that-
'I- what are- you doing here?’ she blurted out - not the most coherent or poetic of greetings, herself, but it cut right to the point and that- well, that had always been the closest thing she’d ever managed to a strength.
His posture did not relax for a moment, though - his attention, while on her for only the briefest of split seconds, soon returned to whatever was occupying the space behind her. 'I am here representing the Empire, my lord. Empress Acina sends her best wishes, and desires to speak regarding an alliance-’
-
I will find you, he’d said, even if it kills me.
That had been what she’d been the most afraid of; that he (that what remained of him) was out there, somewhere, in some unmarked, unknown grave, that she had failed him one final time, that she might not ever even know what happened, in the end.
But no, here he was. Alive, and looking right past her, and all he cared about was business.
-
Acina, back on Dromund Kaas, had been Acina - and had not been, and Eirn hadn’t been sure what to make of the Sith Empress other than to remember the lust that the older Sith had once had (for power, for her) and the disconcertion that even then Eirn had felt knot itself at the base of her spine. Acina-now was different to the Acina-of-before; she wore heavy armour, not soft robes, and the Force pulsed through her in a way that had begun to rot her body from the inside out. Her skin was still smooth, her hair still shone, but her eyes glowed that same yellow-orange that always looked so sickeningly unnatural in humans (and it was unnatural, for all the Sith - the human Sith, the Sith orthodoxy - claimed otherwise) and her breath, when she spoke, came out in cold puffs that only smelt of death and treachery.
How do you walk away from such power, Wrath?
But that was why Eirn had vetoed the idea of allying with the Sith - to Lana’s irritation, and Theron’s bemused relief. None of the Zakuulans had understood the fuss and none of the Jedi had complained, and even many of the Sith who called Odessen home had not been sorry to learn that the Empire had failed to court the Alliance’s command structure.
'You were once the Emperor’s Wrath. The strongest of our number. Join me, and you could be that once again.’ It was a practised speech - and one that, once, might have even worked.
You could serve me again, Wrath. You could kneel, and beg to be allowed to kneel. Now, though, Eirn couldn’t help but snarl at that thought, even as the ice-cold knot in her stomach made her regret the morning’s attempt at a solid breakfast.
And then there was Malavai, of course - ramrod straight, ever at attention and entirely avoidant of it settling on her. Acina, Eirn realised, wasn’t simply courting her again - hadn’t made excuses for them to be alone, hadn’t sent flowers or tried to bribe her with technology and weaponry, but had sent - had tried to send - Malavai, who-
(hadn’t even bothered to try and contact her; hadn’t sent so much of a hint of any further message, after that one desperate plea into the void)
-and that ice-cold knot thawed as it was overpowered with anger that Acina would (so brazenly attempt to manipulate her; that Malavai would go along with it, that either of them might ever think she would ever crawl back to Dromund Kaas, after all they had done to her)-
'Commander Malcom,’ Eirn heard herself say - her voice wavered, and she hated that waver more than anything, if only because of the judgements she immediately became afraid of, 'Tell your people here to expect me. We can discuss the details once I’m there.’
'Pathetic,’ Acina muttered - derision escaping out from between her teeth, an insult spat by lips that moments before had only said such honeyed words. Sith honeys, though, were invariably laced with poison, and Eirn no longer felt she had the constitution to enjoy them. 'Major,’ the Empress added, 'You have your orders-’
-and she was gone, and Quinn had made his empty apology before Eirn could even grasp her saber.
-
When the dust cleared, Malavai - Quinn - was gone, of course; Eirn expected nothing else, and wondered how it was that she still managed to be disappointed. His loyalty to the Empire had always been unshakeable; she’d known even when she had some passing dedication to it of her own that, forced to choose between her and it, she wouldn’t have liked anything he had to say. That didn’t stop it hurting, though; to know that after they had shared so much, he loved that monstrosity more than he had ever loved her. That he’d graduated from Baras’s lackey, to the Wrath’s, to the Empress’s - and that he would, at that, sooner be the Empire’s lackey than any kind of master of his own fate. Acina had never seemed the type to send him flowers, though Eirn knew that had never stopped Sith before - and indeed, Sith were more likely than others to make such gifts out of cynicism rather than any genuine desire. Still, she wouldn’t even have needed to - what had it been he’d once said, that had driven her so mad? Service is its own reward. Service, she’d tried to explain to him, doesn’t pay bills or put food on tables. Service cannot set you free.
'Hey. You alright?’ Theron Shan - the son of a Jedi, a spy for the once-enemy, someone who Eirn had once found incredibly easy to hate - and he was more concerned than her once-husband. There was some unpleasant irony here, but Eirn knew if she dwelled on it she’d end up hurting someone she’d regret - or worse, crying.
'I’ll be fine.’ Not that this was a lie that ever got easier to tell - not that anyone who knew her had ever begun to believe it, but Shan apparently had the sense to let it go, for now.
'We need to rendez-vous with the Republic,’ Eirn added - a strange collection of words, even now, and she frowned a little distantly at the way they fit. 'The Empire won’t waste any time in hitting them.’
Lana was looking at her like this-was-her-fault, though, and Eirn just glowered in return. If there was anyone to blame here, it was Acina - and, not for the first time, Eirn did not regret refusing the Empire’s generous offer of allegiance in the slightest. The Empire did not enter into agreements of equals, not if it could avoid it, and Eirn knew Sith enough to know that while Acina might not ever technically betray the Alliance, she would put her own interests far above even mutual ones - even the Empire’s ones.
'Captain Dorne. I need you and your personnel to hold this location. Lord Beniko will be here to assist you.’ Eirn might not have wanted war, but it was, all the same, what she got; war, and the Republic. This was an idea that was going to take a lot of getting used to, and not for the first time, she wished that there was someone here who she could actually lean on; someone here that she could actually trust.
'I expect,’ she added, quietly - only loud enough that Lana could hear it, as she passed the other Sith, 'Captain Dorne and her people to remain unharmed. The Republic are, for now, allies. Are we clear?’
Lana’s thin-lipped glare hardened ever further, at that, and for a moment, Eirn wondered if the other Sith wasn’t about to start something that they’d both regret.
'I am capable of being professional, Lord Illte,’ Lana replied - her use of Eirn’s oldest title a deliberately displeased one, an eternal - for want of any other word - protest at Eirn’s refusal to be the Alliance’s figurehead. Lana was insulted, too - at the threat, at the implication she was anything but professional, but Eirn found it impossible to not see the way that Force had rotted Lana’s body, too.
'Good,’ Eirn replied - her own tone just as clipped, just as irritated. 'See that you are.’